


Not Afraid Anymore

by TheGirlWithBrightEyes



Series: Fragments of Life [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Coping, First Kiss, History, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regret, Second Chances, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithBrightEyes/pseuds/TheGirlWithBrightEyes
Summary: Set directly after the pair dine at The Ritz, discussing their newfound freedom from Heaven and Hell and Aziraphale's relief of not having to be afraid of Heaven anymore. Crowley has difficulties handling his feelings and Aziraphale is not very tactful, but he does his best to try comfort Crowley.





	Not Afraid Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale really let himself loose wearing Crowley's body and he seems a lot more open and unafraid afterwards, even letting Crowley tempt him. I was thinking about why he was so afraid over the millennia he and Crowley walked the Earth, and checking up on the Angel guarding the East Gate of Eden and the Tree of Life I realised that it wasn't a Principality but a Cherubim. It got me thinking that Aziraphale might be afraid because he had been demoted once, to the lowest rank of Angels nonetheless, from a very high position. It would also explain Gabriel's attitude towards him since it would mean that Aziraphale had once been his superior and he still respected him before he learned of Aziraphale's treason.

Aziraphale had enjoyed himself thoroughly pretending to be Crowley, even more so as he realised that none of the demons suspected a thing and there was no risk of him being locked up somewhere in the pits. It had gone down brilliantly up until the point where he'd been allowed to dress and leave, swinging his towel moist with Holy Water over his shoulder quite casually, as he did his best Crowley swag towards freedom.

No one tried to stop him.

Aziraphale had spent millennia in fear of going against Heaven, ever since he'd given away his flaming Sword in the Garden. Demoted from Cherubim to Principality by God for losing the sword, made to walk the Earth until the End days. He hadn't Fallen then, but the demotion to the lowest rank of angels seemed to him then as stepping on the brink, gazing into the pit. After that he'd walked in fear, always looking over his shoulder, terrified of making God angry enough to tip the scale. It had made all his encounters with Crowley so difficult, because he'd many times known that the demon told the truth - but he'd not dared do a thing about it. It had pained him deeply to watch Noah build his arc, to only stand by as plagues and famine took countless lives, as wars and revolutions raged with countless lives lost. As much as he hated hearing Crowley say what he could not, and do what he could not, he loved the demon for doing something. Anything. When his own hands were tied the demon was his relief, it made it more bearable to watch. Because he was too afraid to finally Fall to do it himself.

In the end, it was also this blinding fear that had driven him to try make his superiors stop Armageddon despite Crowley's desperate attempt at making him run away, only resorting to breaking everything down when he realised that no one - not even the Almighty if Metatron could be trusted to speak Her words - wanted to stop the War. And stopping the War peacefully was the only way for him to get out of this without Falling and saving Crowley, too, because he knew that the demon didn't really want to run away. He was afraid, too, this time, and Aziraphale had to at least try make up for all the times when Crowley had been there.

In the end, there had been no other choice. His fear of losing Crowley, losing his home and his love of all the Life on Earth overpowering his fear of Falling. He'd been brought to the brink once more and deemed the Fall worthy as sacrifice. He could no longer choose both to avoid falling and keeping Crowley at his side, on Earth.

In the aftermath of it all, he'd expected to Fall. Expected retribution. But it didn't happen. What did happen was not God punishing him - but his own kind attempting to execute him, only saved by Agnes Nutter's prophecy - and Crowley. It was betrayal on a level that made Aziraphale lose the last shreds of respect for his former superiors. His last love for the archangels he'd once cared for as his own children..

After now with everything settled down, all there was left for him was Crowley. A demon that had never been much of a demon, despite fervently trying to tell him he was bad. He'd always kept on saying all those things out loud that Aziraphale would barely dare think, so it had been a great relief, a joy, a freedom to wear Crowley's body like a disguise, be able to say anything that popped into his mind.

When they'd swapped back, Aziraphale felt like a new man (figuratively speaking, of course). All those fears gone from his mind. In the end, Heaven's idea of righteousness mattered little in the light of God's ineffable plan and he had half a mind that She had placed him to wander the Earth to be free. It was his love of Life that had driven him to give away his sword, the same love that had made him the Guardian of the Tree of Life at the East gate of the Garden in the first place. He'd wasted millennia by not allowing this love to reign free, to follow Crowley's lead, kindle his compassion.

He'd been a fool. No more.

As he and Crowley dined at the Ritz, Aziraphale felt more alive than ever before. Crowley had draped himself over his chair, listening to him talk as he sipped his champagne, an amused smile on his lips. He loved every minute of it, basking in his attention. Allowing himself to. When they finally did rise to leave after a lunch that had drawn out into a light supper of mostly pastries, wine and tea, Crowley stretched languidly, his movements almost liquid.

"Back to my place now?" he said casually and Aziraphale couldn't help feel fondness overflowing. Crowley had been in a pleasant mood most of the time although he was still a bit tired so he'd mostly been listening to Aziraphale talk.

"How about a walk to Soho?" Aziraphale suggested. "Then we can always retreat back to your flat once we've picked up a few bottles from the wine cellar." Crowley didn't object, following him outside where he let Aziraphale take his arm as they started towards the bookshop at a leisure pace. He had, as usual, squeezed his fingers into the tight pockets of his trousers.

"Not sure where this new development came from, but I like it," Crowley said after a little while, uncharacteristically cheerful. "Did something good happen while you were in my body?"

"I guess you could say it has something to do with being on 'our side'," Aziraphale said, smiling. he was so happy he thought his chest would burst, walking there beside Crowley, arm in arm in the pleasant evening sun. "It's freedom as I've never known it."

"Freedom," Crowley mused, pacing himself to walk beside Aziraphale. "Yeah, I guess you'd call it that. Not having anyone to answer to anymore."

"Nor to fear," the angel added, glancing at him. "I am rather tired of being afraid. This is much better." Crowley nodded thoughtfully, gazing up in the sky.

"I guess this means you'll argue less with me?" he said, slightly distant. Aziraphale swallowed, his cheeks turning pink.

"Crowley, I am so sorry..."he started, but the demon stopped, looking at him. For a minute or two, Aziraphale tried to collect himself, blinking as his eyes tear in shame. He had been unreasonable, always putting out protests against everything Crowley suggested that hinted toward any act that Heaven might have issues with. And he'd done it for millennia. It was hundreds, if not thousands of arguments over millennia. "No...just saying I'm sorry is not enough," he said, looking down on his hand on Crowley's arm, his fingers holding onto the black fabric.

"I kind of got used to it so there's not much to forgive," Crowley said, his voice rather quiet. "But I won't pretend it never hurt." He pulled out his hands out of his pockets and gently pried Aziraphale's hand away from his arm. The angel hung his head as he felt Crowley hold his hand lightly, expecting him to let it go after he'd taken it off him. Instead, he felt a palm slide against his and looked up, just in time for Crowley to lace their fingers together.

"Crowley..."

"Just...don't say anything..."Crowley said very apprehensively and Aziraphale swallowed hard, taking a firm grip on Crowley's hand as they kept walking, now hand in hand instead.

It was...odd, holding hands with Crowley. His hands were warm, dry and stronger than you'd expect. It was comforting somehow, but he did feel slightly uncomfortable seeing some people stare at them. Although Aziraphale was admittedly old-fashioned, he knew full well that men being in any way intimate with each other - by human standards - was still not fully accepted by the public even if it wasn't strictly illegal. Walking hand in hand with Crowley this struck him much more powerfully than it had before.

"Are you afraid, angel?" Crowley said as they entered Soho and Aziraphale licked his lips. Something about the tone of Crowley's voice rung warning bells.

"Afraid of what?" he therefore said carefully, and Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of being seen with me like this," he continued, turning his gaze back ahead as they started down the street that would lead them to the bookshop. Crowley had chosen the most busy street, and Aziraphale could only assume that he did so on purpose.

That this was some kind of test.

"Should I be?" the angel said, slightly defiant. Crowley snorted, but he didn't seem amused. It felt as if the demon was humouring him, somehow.

"You said you'd nothing to fear anymore. I'm going to assume you meant 'from Heaven'. There'll always be something to fear when you are with me. We'll probably always be a pair someone hates, doesn't really matter what party. We probably won't even be accepted here," he flung his arm out, gesturing to the many clubs and bars, where here and there people looked out to watch the two grown men holding hands in the street. "Can you let go of that fear, too? You always cared too much what people think."

Aziraphale couldn't give him wrong. Even now, his chest fluttered with worries as people around them stared - disapprovingly in his mind. He swallowed, watching Crowley's hunched back as he walked one step ahead, his grip on Aziraphale's hand firm.

No more.

Aziraphale stopped, bringing Crowley to a halt as well. He looked back on him, his lips a thin line. He was tense but didn't say anything.

"I refuse to waste more time being afraid," Aziraphale said, barely managing to hold the trembling out of his voice, looking defiantly up on Crowley who gazed back, his jaw slackening slightly in surprise. "So you think I will leave you or step away from you because I fear what people would think of us? That I'd love you less because it's inappropriate? That I'd waste this second chance to stand by you? If you do, you're no better than the fool you take me for."

Whatever Crowley had expected him to say, this was clearly not it. His jaw dropped.

"W-wa...you...what?" he managed weakly, and to Aziraphale's satisfaction his cheeks turned pink. Throwing all caution to the wind and having something to prove, Aziraphale reached out and grasped one of Crowley's lapels, pulling him down until their noses were nearly touching. This close, he could see Crowley's eyes through the shades and they were wide in shock.

"Let me prove to you," Aziraphale whispered. "Just how little I care what people think of us being together." He could hear Crowley swallow and see his jaws move, his eyes narrowing.

"Do it," Crowley managed at a hiss. It was all the confirmation Aziraphale needed. Without a second thought - possibly fuelled by anger at himself and his fears - he tilted his head slightly and kissed Crowley, once, on the lips before releasing him. The demon looked slightly dazed and Aziraphale was vaguely aware that there was some catcalling and applause going on somewhere around them. His eyes were fixed on Crowley, waiting for some kind of reaction during growing apprehension. Crowley had cornered him, he could hardly blame him for doing something to defend himself, could he?

"I...I believe you," Crowley murmured, still rather shocked. "Come on, angel. We've got wine waiting for us." He gave a slight tug at Aziraphale's hand and the angel yielded, following the demon at a considerably brisker pace the last leg to the bookshop. As it came into view, relief flooded him.

He'd felt the pain from Crowley when it burned down. Felt his sorrow. But he'd never seen its hollowed out corpse and smelled its ashes, so seeing it back the way it was felt like seeing an old friend safe. Even though he knew it hadn't been. As they neared the door though - Crowley bee lining over the street - he could feel the demon tense up. The hands that connected them was like tripwire.

"Crowley?" he called softly and the demon stopped, very briefly, just outside the doors. He exhaled audibly.

"T's all right..."Crowley whispered. "It's...still painful to be here. In my mind it's still...on fire..."Aziraphale nodded slowly even though Crowley couldn't see it, and fished out his keys. He let go of the demon's hand to unlock the door and Crowley slipped past him. He stopped inside, glancing around with shoulders that were tense.

"I'm sorry..."Aziraphale said, feeling incredibly guilty. Of course the memory was still fresh in Crowley's mind, it hadn't even been two days since he'd found the bookshop aflame thinking him murdered. "I shouldn't have made you come back here again so soon."

"I love you, too."

The whisper was so raw, so silent that it was barely audible, but in the silence of the bookshop Aziraphale caught every word. He stared at Crowley, but the demon wasn't looking at him. His gaze was turned on the ceiling as if fighting tears.

"I know," Aziraphale said, very softly, because as Crowley said it he realised he did know. Crowley had always given him anything he wanted if it was within his powers and he'd sacrificed his own security more than once the last few hundred years, risking punishment from Hell or even destruction as it were.

You didn't risk your very existence for something shallow, even if you were a demon. It was the kind of selfless act that could only be born out of love.

Aziraphale could hear Crowley draw another shivering breath and he found himself afraid the demon would cry again and hurt himself. It had been painful enough to feel him suffer that night after Armageddon had been stopped. To heal the wounds his acid tears inflicted. But if it came to that he had to heal him again, he would.

Aziraphale stepped in, wrapping his arms around Crowley. The demon didn't answer it, he just stood there, shivering violently for a full minute or two, before he dropped his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. This close the angel could hear him pant very softly from exertion and he could only guess what was going on in Crowley's head. The willpower that he'd had to bring up to whisper those words. The denial from many centuries past. His own hatred of himself for feeling this way.

"It's all right, dear," he whispered, soothingly. "You are safe. We are safe. And we have time..."In a rustle of feathers he dropped the glamour on his wings and wrapped them around them both, hoping they would give Crowley comfort. As he did, he felt Crowley's arms come up to gently grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh. It hurt slightly, but Aziraphale prevailed.

If Crowley needed this to calm down, he'd let him. The demon was still shivering violently still.

"All these years..."he finally whispered, head still resting on Aziraphale's shoulder. His voice was weak, raspy. "I Hated myself for feeling this way. Knew I wasn't worthy... That you...tolerated me...liked me at most..."he drew another of those deep, trembling breaths. "That maybe I should leave you alone but I...couldn't bring myself to... I was selfish."

"Heaven knows I'm the selfish one," Aziraphale said gently, moving one hand up to lightly caress Crowley's neck. The demon started at the touch but stilled. "After all this time...everything you've done for me...and every time you tried to get me to do something for you in return, I..."He drew a deep breath of his own, feeling so guilty it hurt. "All because of my stupid fears. I hurt you and I never meant to..."

"...S'okay..."Crowley mumbled, but Aziraphale wouldn't have it. He gently grasped Crowley's shoulders and made him straighten up, meet his eyes. He looked exhausted, his amber eyes behind the shades were sad.

"It's not okay, Crowley," Aziraphale said, holding Crowley firmly. "It never was and never will be. I hurt you." Crowley choked slightly, then tried to look anywhere but at him. He squirmed under Aziraphale's hands, but the angel relented. It had to be said. "It was never okay to hurt you."

"I-I can't handle this sober," Crowley managed hoarsely, although by all means he wasn't completely sober after all the champagne. Just not nearly drunk enough. "Please angel...this is not a good place..."

Aziraphale sighed and nodded sadly. He felt this wasn't done, but Crowley was requesting something from him again - begging him - and it would break his heart if he refused him this time.

"All right," he said softly, releasing Crowley and withdrawing his wings, reapplying the glamour. "I'll get a few bottles. Will you wave down a cab? I'm afraid I left the Bentley at your place. If I'd attempted driving it...well." Despite himself, Crowley let out something between a snort and a laugh, rubbing at his shoulder where moments before Aziraphale's hands had been. As if the touch had burned him.

"Better leave the driving to me," he said, trying to tease but his heart wasn't into it. The difference was heartbreaking. Aziraphale gave him a small smile, then ventured downstairs to the wine cellar. He was slightly surprised to see it quite a bit fuller than he'd remembered. Some of his wines seemed to have multiplied after the shop was restored. He picked out a few of Crowley's favourites and wrapped them lovingly before he put them in a wicker basket along with a bottle of Talisker. He knew this was Crowley's go-to scotch over the past two hundred years when he felt miserable.

He supposed he would want it now, too.

As he got back up, Crowley was sitting in the chair by his desk - if one could call what Crowley did to chairs 'sitting' - staring somewhere beyond the floor. It was hard to tell his state of mind but Aziraphale had a guess that it was 'overwhelmed' at the moment.

"Cab's waiting outside, angel," he said, rather distantly. "Did you decide on anything good?"

"Will a few nice bottles from Cerbaiona and a bottle of 10 year old Talisker do?" Crowley swivelled around to look at him, for the second time today looking quite surprised.

"Will...'course they will do, angel!" he sputtered, quickly getting to his feet. "That'd be among the finest wines in your collection. Are you sure you want to bring those out?" Aziraphale couldn't help himself, he smiled.

"I know you like their wine," he said softly. "Consider it an apology if you will, but really I...want to make you feel better. It's a small price to pay." Crowley let out a small groan bordering on a growl, then held out his hand. Aziraphale gave him the basket and the demon led the way to the cab waiting for them just outside.

Well in the backseat of the cab Aziraphale found Crowley watching him. He wasn't sure what he was looking for - or waiting for, but the angel eventually gave him a soft smile and found his hand, curling his fingers around it. It seemed to be the right thing to do, because despite himself the corners of Crowley's mouth curled slightly upwards and he turned his gaze outside the window instead, fingers answering Aziraphale's.

It was the second time they held hands and this time it wasn't because Crowley wanted to test him. This time it was because he wanted to hold his hand, and as tiny an intimate gesture it was, its significance was not lost on either of them.

As the cab pulled in outside the 1930s apartment building Crowley resided in, the gleaming Bentley from 1926 came into view parked outside. Crowley, quite predictably, tore out of the cab leaving Aziraphale to pay. He came over to watch as Crowley crouched, going around the car, caressing it lovingly, examining it thoroughly with his nose a bare inch from the gleaming metal. The angel smiled, picking up the wicker basket the demon had abandoned on the road beside the car in his hurry. He let Crowley have his moment, he knew how much the Bentley meant to him. It was his pride in the same sense the book collection was his.

It was also another thing he'd thought lost to him only a day ago to fire and that Aziraphale had not been able to give him time to mourn properly.

Once Crowley was sufficiently sure his car was indeed back and still in mint condition, darkness had begun to fall around them as the sun set on their first day of freedom. It felt strange being back in Crowley's flat now, without all the emotional baggage of the day before. Aziraphale found himself appreciating it more now that he didn't have a demon falling to pieces from overexertion to pick up or a prophecy to worry about. It was different this time.

After disposing of his jacket and shades, Crowley led the way upstairs and turned right this time, past a room with luscious plants. Aziraphale blinked as he saw them, the thought of Crowley caring for them quite staggering. He didn't have much time to gawk though, because the demon kept going. They passed another large statue here, one that made Aziraphale's cheeks go warm.

"Is that us...?"he asked in passing, staring wide eyed at the two men - one with white wings, one dark - seemingly wrestling nude. Crowley chuckled and stopped, turning back to look at Aziraphale before he went back to the statue and ran his hand over one of the legs. It made Aziraphale blush even more. It felt as though Crowley did indecent things with the statue.

"Not originally I suppose. But I guess it could be if you wanted it to, angel." Aziraphale gulped, glancing at the statue and Crowley's hand resting on the dark ones thigh.

"I'll...uh...consider it..."Aziraphale mumbled, swallowing, knowing full well that Crowley was teasing him. At least this time there was more heart to it. "Is the kitchen this way?" He motioned where Crowley had been heading and the demon gave him an intense look before wheeling around without an answer. Aziraphale followed him into what was a very stylish, modern and quite spacious kitchen with - like the rest of the flat, high ceiling. it was nothing at all like the little nook of a kitchen at the bookstore. This one was all gleaming, clean surfaces without clutter, spotlights lighting it up and pots of fragrant herbs used in cooking. There was even a set of top-of-the-line knives on a magnet set in the wall above the worktop.

"T'is not much but..."Crowley said, hooking down a couple of wine glasses hung from the suspended top above a generous kitchen island with bar stools. There was already a small silver tray with upside down whiskey glasses standing on it.

"It's large," Aziraphale commented, glancing up at the tall ceiling. "I didn't know you liked cooking." Crowley shrugged.

"Don't really cook all that much," he admitted, wrenching the fridge open as Aziraphale opened the bottle of scotch. The fridge was far from filled and didn't really contain what humans would call staple food - it was little gourmet nitpicks, most of them to have with different varieties of alcohol. "Just when I'm bored."

"But it'd be shame to have such a well equipped kitchen and not use it," Aziraphale protested slightly, pouring their glasses. Crowley put out a tray of finger food in front of him and sunk down on a stool next to him. He draped himself over the concrete top and swiped one of the scotch glasses Aziraphale had prepared.

"Do use it. Just not so much for cooking," he shrugged again, swirling the scotch in his glass before taking a sip. Almost instantly he seemed to regret it.

"No good?" Aziraphale said with some concern. Crowley looked troubled, gazing into the glass as if the whiskey betrayed him.

"It's not that, it's..."he paused, then dropped the glass back down with a deafening clang and a slosh that spilled some, before dropping himself to the top as well, wrapping his arms around his face to hide.

"Crowley! What's wrong?" Aziraphale exclaimed, jumping down to put his hand on Crowley's back. Once more he found that he was shaking badly.

"Doesn't taste right," Crowley managed thickly, his voice muffled. "Drank the stuff when I thought you...w-when I..."He didn't need to continue, Aziraphale knew what he was trying to say.

_I drank this when I thought you had died._

Things had changed. Most for the better, but... This terrible ordeal had taken its toll on Crowley. Aziraphale felt he'd underestimated the post-traumatic stress the demon was under because...well, this was Crowley. He'd always get back on his feet. Only he hadn't always... Aziraphale quite vividly recalled having to drag Crowley out of drunken stupor when the Spanish Inquisition reigned, his deep down kind heart had been unable to cope with it.

"Shall I...get you something else?" Aziraphale tried, gently stroking Crowley's back.

"Dunno... Blanket maybe..."Slightly frustrated, Aziraphale nodded to himself.

"All right. Blanket it is," he said, then left Crowley briefly in the kitchen as he went to look for one. He found a few in the bedroom and also passed by the drinking cabinet in Crowley's study to see if he could find something that would be more comforting right now. He found a few bottles of liqueur and thumbed one of them thoughtfully, before returning to the kitchen. Crowley sat pretty much exactly as he'd left him and Aziraphale tucked the blanket around him. Shivering, Crowley accepted it and drew it closer.

"If you're freezing I know just the thing," Aziraphale said gently, miracling a bottle of apple cider that he heated under Crowley's scrutinizing eyes. He rummaged through the cupboards and found some cinnamon sticks and added one of these, too. Once the cider was hot enough, he mixed in some of the liqueur and poured into a new glass. Crowley accepted it, warming his hands on it before trying it. He shuddered, closing his eyes with a frown as he swallowed some. It didn't look like he liked it and Aziraphale wondered briefly if he'd had too much cinnamon in it.

"That's strong," he said, but gave Aziraphale a little sad smile. "But it's what I need right now. Thanksss." He made a face at the hiss, but the angel just found it endearing.

"It feels like I've done and said all the wrong things tonight," Aziraphale said apologetically. "I'm sorry. I never meant to upset you. It was much too soon and I...I realise that now. I really should have after what I had to do yesterday." Crowley sipped his drink, but nodded carefully.

"Yeah...probably been better to wait a few days at least," he agreed. "'S much as I hate it I'm...vulnerable right now..."he confessed, looking disgusted with himself.

"It was a horrible ordeal you had to deal with, dear," Aziraphale said, reaching out to gently pat Crowley's arm. "And I wasn't at all as much help as I should have been."

"Shouldn't have pushed you today, either," Crowley said, fixing his amber eyes on Aziraphale, who sat back looking unhappy. "Just...I dunno...wanted to hold your hand. And then I couldn't shut my stupid mouth when I should have..."

"Well, if anyone is to blame it is me," Aziraphale said, shaking his head. "You were not in a good state of mind. Having a go at you at a time like that was far from gentlemanly and I am truly sorry." His cheeks flashed hot. "And I-I kissed you, too."

There was a long pause, then...

"Please, angel," Crowley said, his voice so soft Aziraphale looked up, but Crowley wasn't looking at him. He had covered his eyes with his hand. "Of all you did and said today...you telling me you...love me...and the kiss to prove it, I...don't apologise for them. Please don't." He was pleading. Aziraphale's heart squeezed and he reached out to take Crowley's hand. It was warm.

"I won't," he murmured, knowing in his heart why Crowley didn't want him to apologise for it. Apologising would be as if he regretted it, and considering Crowley had - despite how difficult it had been to him - admitted he felt the same, it would be a heartless thing to do. "Because I do love you, Crowley."

"I think...I knew that, too..."Crowley admitted weakly, still hiding. "But I didn't think...after all we've been through and everything you said, I..."he fell silent, hanging his head again. The hand hiding his eyes came up to hold his head instead as if he was having a major headache coming up.

"You say so much you don't mean under pressure," Aziraphale said, patting Crowley's hand. "These days have not been good. Let's make up for them. Wine?"

"Yes," Crowley muttered, watching Aziraphale pour him a glass. "I think I'd better sleep tonight, too. I still feel like crap," he concluded, drinking the wine in two gulps before leaning back, eyes closed, waiting for it to get to his head.

"Want me to join you?" Aziraphale said delicately, worried he'd set something more off. Crowley seemed to consider it for a minute or two. Then did an odd sort of undecided shrug, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Only if you want to," he finally said, carefully casual. "I'd not mind if you do." Aziraphale smiled, pouring him another glass of wine.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, then." And this time, Crowley did smile, something of the tension seeping out of his shoulders.


End file.
